


A Time for Drinks

by JeniceM



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeniceM/pseuds/JeniceM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly gruesome case that leaves the entire lot of them feeling a bit haunted, Lestrade takes John out for drinks, and John realizes a few things about his friend.</p><p>warning: talk of violent death of children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time for Drinks

**Author's Note:**

> beta-d but not brit-picked, hope it's not too bad.

The first time Lestrade and John went out for drinks together would always be a memorable thing for John, whether he really wanted it to be or not.

“John! How’re you doing?” Lestrade smiled, and held out a hand for John to shake as he approached him outside of the bar. John forced a smile and nodded his head.

“I’m uh, I’m good,” he lied and nodded along as if to convince himself of it. Lestrade returned the same tight lipped half smile and clapped his hand on John’s shoulder as he turned and led him into the pub.

They grabbed a table in the corner. It wasn’t full, and was relatively quiet as the sun had just set. Lestrade sighed and leaned back in the booth.

“I’m so bloody glad it’s over,” he sighed heavily, and sounded as exhausted as he looked. John made a noise of agreement, as he waved down the waitress for a couple beers. They needed them, and thankfully got them rather quickly as the awkward silence that filled the air grew thicker.

“For once I think Sherlock might be as well,” John said, after what felt like ages, taking a large gulp of his beer. Lestrade smirked, wrapping his hands around his own.

“I think even he can be a bit disgusted with people for reasons _other_ than them being an idiot.” John could only give an amiable smile in return even though he knew very well that was the truth, probably more so than anyone else. Sherlock might not be able to understand what tied people together at times, what caused sentimentality, but the opposite was also true. Sherlock could never understand why anyone would take pleasure in hurting others, and John knew, despite Sherlock being extremely adept at hiding it, that it bothered him. He may have enjoyed the puzzle, but sometimes John had an inkling that he took on a case not quite at his interest level because he was honestly afraid the Police wouldn’t get it solved fast enough - and in cases like the one they had just managed to wrap up, it was a frightening thought. 

John also knew that the reason Sherlock hadn’t come to join them that night wasn’t just because he didn’t do drinks with his ‘buddies’, but was also because he was exhausted and hadn’t slept in three days. Frankly, John understood not wanting to go, and wasn’t really sure why he was there.

John and Lestrade had never hung out together before, but at the end of such a harrowing case they both felt the need to wind down. They didn’t talk about the details of the case. No, if anything they avoided the topic because chatting about the torn apart little girl they had found five days before, and the matching ten year old boy three days before that…no they didn’t need to think about those things.

They needed to focus on the case being done, solved, and over - that they had managed to catch a very sick man and he would never hurt another kid again. Not on the very idea that anyone could ever do those things to anyone, let alone a child. John craved excitement and the thrill of the chase, but he never really craved a case like that one. No one did. Not even Sherlock. 

And Lestrade, being the great man that he was, managed to fix John’s focus on those very important things. 

“That was some quick thinking you had,” Lestrade said, shaking John out of his thoughts, “I think you may have realized it was him before even Sherlock had.” He smirked at the thought and John blinked.

“Oh no, he told me who it was.” Lestrade frowned.

“I didn’t hear that. All I saw was you drawing your gun and shooting at the man none of us even saw.” John opened his mouth as if to protest this compliment, his own bashfulness coming out, but he simply closed his mouth and shook his head. He didn’t really feel like explaining how he had managed to understand what Sherlock was conveying when John knew perfectly well his friend hadn’t been making any sense, babbling to himself. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to think about it. 

“I’ve never seen someone shoot that accurately from that far away you know. I was impressed. Really I was.” John chuckled. He wanted to compliment Lestrade on how he had handled the sobbing mess of a mother at the crime scene, or how he had managed to keep his lunch down unlike more than half the squad when they were working on the first scene. But that would be bringing up the things they didn’t really want to think about. So instead he simply raised his glass to Lestrade and thanked him. 

Their chatter turned slowly from the grizzly crime they had just solved back to older, less frightening ones, and John wondered if perhaps Lestrade was actually trying to make him feel better. The man looked tired, just as much as John felt, but he also looked knowing, like this wasn’t the first horrifying case he’d ever had, and John knew it couldn’t be. No, every murder was horrifying sure, but some were certainly worse than others and he found himself wondering what sort of horrors Lestrade had seen in his time on the force. Because even in the army, seeing men lose life and limb, it wasn’t anything like seeing a dead little girl who was killed for the simple pleasure of it. He thought Lestrade must realize that, that this outing might be more for him, the newbie to this kind of sick crime, than for anything else. But god, he appreciated it.


End file.
